Seven Minutes
by Contract with a K
Summary: Bruce wants Clark to go to Conner's parent teacher conference. Clark can't make up his mind. By the time he's made up his mind, someone else has beat him to it. Set between Agendas and Usual Suspects.


**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it, it's not mine.

**A/N:** This is a fill for the YJ Anon meme. The OP wanted to see a fic where Luthor revealed his relationship to Superboy by showing up to Superboy's parent teacher conference. This isn't exactly what the OP asked for.

Set between Agendas and the end of Season 1.

* * *

**Seven Minutes**

Bruce Wayne was a lot of things. Billionaire playboy. Dark knight. Leader of the Justice League.

Manipulative bastard.

That was the one that always got to Clark. He loved Bruce, he really did. He just wished he was a little less good at being himself.

For the ten thousandth time that day, he sighed and looked at his watch. If he wanted to make it, he really should leave _now_. The problem was, he wasn't sure he wanted to make it. He knew the… whatever the clone was… would be fine. J'onn was ready to pretend to be the clone's father. Clark, on the other hand, didn't think he'd ever be able to pretend to be the clone's father, no matter how much Bruce wanted him to.

So if he didn't go, the clone would be fine. Of course, _he_ would toss and turn all night with guilt. But on the other hand, if he did go…

He didn't know what would happen then. The thought terrified him.

He sighed again.

"What's wrong Smallville?" Lois's voice cut through the cloud of misery.

"Nothing's wrong," he lied.

"God!" she rolled her eyes. "You are the _worst_ liar I know."

_That_ brought a hint of a smile to his lips. _One day, Lois,_ he thought, _one day_.

"So are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" Lois pressed. "You've been sighing all day and Jimmy's sure you're in love, but I keep telling him that people sigh happily when they're in love, and you're sighing _un_happily. Ergo, something else is bothering you."

For a moment Clark fantasized about sweeping Lois off her feet and flying out the window with her. Then he folded the fantasy up and shrugged. "There's an event tonight and a friend really wants me to go. But I don't know."

"Go." It was a simple command. Lois sounded entirely sure.

"Why?"

"Because you keep thinking about it. If you didn't want to go, you just wouldn't go. You wouldn't spend the whole day sighing about it. Besides, if you don't go, you're just going to stay here and be boring and then go home and be boring. So, if you go and it turns out to be a bust, at least you'll know what you gave up, which to be honest, isn't all that much. If you stay, you'll be wondering what it would have been like, and I know you Smallville, you'll spend all night tossing and turning with regret, and tomorrow you'll be too sleep deprived to work and I'll have to pick up your slack. Go."

Clark looked at Lois, then at his watch. "I have to leave now, if I'm going to make it," he told her.

"Then _go_!"

Clark nodded. He got up and set to running as fast as he could go without raising suspicions, and then when he was out of the building, he slipped into an alley, tore open his shirt, threw off his glasses, and flew faster than he'd ever flown before.

"J'onn," he said pressing into the communicator. "I'm coming. I'll be a couple of minutes late, but I'm coming."

"I'm so very glad to hear Megan has been doing so well in class," J'onn's voice came out from the other side.

* * *

The damn school was in the middle of a massive parking lot. There were no trees or alley to disguise his landing anywhere near the school, so Clark had to land several blocks away and run the rest of the way there. His watch told him he was five minutes late, and he told himself that wasn't the end of the world. Plenty of people were five minutes late. But still, something bit at his heart (a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bruce's asked him if that might be called _guilt_).

As he rushed through the parking lot (it was much more work to run slowly and pretend to be out of breath than it was to run at Mach 5) he used his x-ray vision to check up on the boy. He finally found him on the second floor. He was sitting on a stood outside a classroom, casting furtive glances at the clock on the wall and trying very hard not to look miserable.

Whatever it was that had bitten at Clark's heart decided to clench around his stomach. Ma and Pa had never been a minute late to any of his parent-teacher conferences, let alone five.

Actually, six now. He looked at his watch. He was six minutes late. The boy was clearly disappointed. Clark groaned. The rational side of him knew he didn't owe the boy anything. But… he had told J'onn he was coming, and that had probably set up expectations. He didn't have a duty to the clone, but he didn't have a right to disappoint the boy either.

He sped up a little. Would people really be able to tell the difference between running five miles an hour and ten? He ran into the school. The staircase was empty so he allowed himself to fly up, stopping only briefly to make sure he wouldn't throw the stair doors off their hinges.  
Seven minutes late. That was almost half the allotted time for the parent teacher conference. Bruce was going to have his hide for this. He opened the door and turned onto the corridor.

The boy was standing now and there was a man in front of him—Clark couldn't make out the man's face because his back was turned to him, but he had long red hair and he was wearing a suit. [J'onn, what are you doing?] he projected. [I'm here. A little late, but I just got here.]

J'onn didn't answer so Clark tried the League communicator.

"I don't know what you're talking about," J'onn's voice came through. "Since you were coming, I left with M'gann. We're going out for ice cream."

Clark didn't need a voice that sounded like Bruce to tell him what he felt next. Terror, white, hot, and furious, grabbed his entrails and twisted them in a bunch. There was a man at the boy's parent-teacher conference, and it wasn't J'onn and it wasn't him.

Bruce. It had to be Bruce. That fucking sadistic bastard. It had to be him. He would probably think the whole thing was funny. He was probably trying to teach Clark a lesson. Smug bastard.

"I'm very sorry I'm late, Mr. Carr," the man said to the boy's teacher. They were in the classroom now, and Clark was looking in with his x-ray vision. "There was quite a lot of traffic on the way from Metropolis."

Clark knew that voice. And it sure as hell wasn't Bruce's. Whatever he'd thought panic felt like, it was nothing like what he was feeling now. Lex Luthor, for some nefarious purpose, was pretending to be Conner's father.

"I completely understand Mr. Kent—

"Oh, please," Luthor said in his usual calm voice, smoothed with poison and honey, "Call me Alexander."

Snapper nodded, but didn't address Luthor as Alexander. Instead he grabbed a bunch of papers. "Fortunately this is the last slot of the night, so we can go a little later."

"How very kind of you, Mr. Carr."

Snapper coughed and Clark felt a sliver of hope. Snapper wasn't fooled by Luthor. "If I may say, Mr. Ken—Alexander, you don't look like Conner."

"Oh, no. In looks the boy takes after his mother." Luthor laughed. Then he reached out and pulled Conner into him. The boy stiffened, but he let Luthor pull him in. "But when it comes to brains, the boy's all me." He went so far so as to tussle Conner's hair in what had to be the most abhorrently accurate mockery of affection Clark had ever seen.

"So tell me about my Conner."

Something in Clark turned at the way Luthor said "my."

Snapper nodded and started to talk about Conner's strength and weaknesses. Every question Clark wanted to ask, Luthor asked the second before the question had fully formed in Clark's mind. And there were a few things Luthor asked that would never have occurred to Clark. About Conner's friends, his social interactions. He pressed Snapper on why Conner wasn't doing better in pre-calculus, and it occurred to Clark that he hadn't even known Conner was taking precalc. Or that he was getting a B+ in it.

At the end of half an hour, Luthor thanked Snapper and Snapper led both Conner and Luthor out of the classroom. Too late, Clark realized they were headed towards him. He ducked into the stairwell and pressed himself into the ceiling, praying to Rao that Luthor wouldn't think to look up.

He didn't.

Once Luthor and Conner were safely outside, he floated down and followed them outside, crouching in the shadows so they wouldn't see him, like Bruce had taught him once.

Conner followed Luthor all the way to where Luthor's car was parked. It was a black Porche—only slightly less ostentatious than the usual stretch limo, and Clark wondered if that was a good enough excuse for not realizing it was there when he was running into the school.

Mercy was already standing outside, door pulled pen.

"Well, I'm glad you're doing well in school," Luthor said pulling the ridiculous red wig off. "Although, you really should be doing better in math. You should be doing calculus in five dimensions by now."

Conner shifted uncomfortably. "I have a lot of extracurriculars."

"Oh, yes, I understand. Of course. And you're quite good at those. I didn't tell you last time, but I've been very impressed with your work. Especially the quick thinking you did at Belle Reve. If the reason your math grade is suffering is because you're busy, that's fine, of course. But if you're having genuine difficulties, I can get you a tutor.

"Or," Luthor added after half a beat, "I can tutor you myself."

"I don't need anything from _you_," Conner growls, and Clark felt something akin to pride.

"You're a nigh-invulnerable superhero," Luthor countered, not even phased by the fact that a moody super powered teenager was clearly angry with him. "You don't really _need_ anything. But, I want to give you things anyway. Gifts. From a father to his son."

"I don't _want_ any gifts from you," Conner growled again. Clark saw him reach into his pant pockets and pull something out. With his telescopic vision, Clark saw it was a small metal box with the El-crest drawn on it. He had never seen it before.

Conner thrust it into Luthor's hand. "Take it back. I don't need these and I don't want them."

Luthor smiled as he opened the box. "You don't need them, and you don't want them, but you have used them. He pulled out three pentagons and spread them out in his hands, like playing cards. "You're nearly out. If you really didn't want them, you'd have thrown them out."

"I…" Conner stumbled, as if looking for a good retort.

Luthor reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a zip-lock bag filled with more pentagons. He took them out of the bag and placed them in the box along with the three that had been in there. He snapped the box closed and handed it back to Conner.

"A gift. From a father to his son."

"You're not my father."

"I'd tell you to keep telling yourself that, but it won't change the facts. If there's one sad truth about our world, it's that we can't choose who our fathers are."

Clark didn't really know what those pentagons were. But he knew that if they came from Luthor they couldn't possibly be good. He didn't realize he was holding his breath for Conner to give the box back to Luthor until the boy _didn't_. Luthor smiled, assured of some victory, though Clark wasn't sure exactly what it was, and Luthor slid into his car.

"Come in," Luthor patted the leather of the seat beside him. "It's late. I'll give you a ride home."

Conner snorted. "So you can see where the League's headquarters are?"

Luthor laughed. "Oh, I'm quite aware of where the Hall of Justice is. Unless… were you referring to the tunnels Superman bore in Mount Justice, right here in Happy Harbor? Or perhaps, that Watchtower they have in space?"

Luthor wasn't supposed to know about the Watchtower. Clark was going to have to tell Bruce… as soon as he could figure out how to explain to the Batman that he was late to Conner's Parent Teacher Conference and Lex Luthor stepped in, and how Clark, rather than interrupting, watched from the shadows like a coward.

Conner stepped back. Luthor hit his hand against the leather again. "Come on son, you won't be revealing any League secrets to me. But come on, it's late. I'll drive you home.

"Unless…" Luthor's green eyes glinted with slippery malice and Clark was certain he'd never wanted to knock out Luthor's pearly whites more than he did at that moment. "You're not afraid that I'll find out about them… you're afraid they'll find out about _me_."

Clark heard Conner take a deep breath. Heard the boy's heart speed up. Even if he hadn't had superpowers, he would have seen the boy's shoulders stiffen. Luthor had hit a nerve.

"My poor boy," Luthor said almost sweetly, "You're afraid what your friends will think when they find out that you're not _exactly_ Superman's clone. That half of your DNA comes from me—

The revelation made Clark woozy.

"Are you worried about what _Superman_ will think of you? Because, really, you needn't worry about that. To Superman, you will always be nothing more than a weapon made by bad guys to take him down. The difference between the Alien and me, son—one of many—is that _I_ want you, just. The. Way. You. Are."

Luthor's words cut through Clark like a knife dipped in vinegar. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Luthor had won. The boy needed a father, Bruce had said, and here was Luthor, offering to be that father. Offering to be the man Clark had refused to be. Conner would shake. He would be broken. He would nod and sit in Luthor's car and drive off into the night.

Except, the boy didn't do any of those things. For a while, he didn't move at all. Then he shook his head.

"If that were true," Conner said waving the strange metal box with the pentagons inside, "You wouldn't have given me this."

Luthor had failed. He chuckled anyway and his eyes glittered. "Like I said, _this_," he pointed to his bald temple, "is all me.

"Stay safe, my dear son." He pulled the door closed and nodded to Mercy. The car pulled away, leaving Conner alone in the purple twilight. He stood there a long time, and for the first time, Clark wanted to go to the boy and tell him that nothing Luthor had said was true. That Luthor was a vile, hateful, manipulative snake, and that he was proud of the boy for not going with the man. He wanted to. He really did. But, for some reason, he didn't. He just stayed, hidden as he was, and watched the boy.

And the boy just stayed on the parking lot, gazing after the horizon over which Luthor had disappeared in his black Porche. Eventually, twilight faded into night, and Conner was still standing in the middle of the abandoned parking lot.

He looked at the box and frowned. He pulled his arm back ready to pitch the damned box as far away as possible, but to Clark's dismay, he didn't open his fingers. Instead of flying out of his hand and disappearing into the night, the small metal box stayed clutched in Conner's fingers.

_Throw them away_, Clark prayed. Nothing from Luthor could possibly be good. The boy was smart enough to know that. The boy _did_ know that. The boy just needed to throw them away.

And Clark just needed to step out from his hiding spot.

But he didn't, and Conner didn't throw the box away.

Instead he opened it and pulled out one of the little pentagons.

"Stop!" Clark wanted to scream.

But he didn't.

The boy slapped the pentagon against his arm. From his hiding spot, Clark could hear the boy's teeth grinding. He could hear the quickening of his heartbeat. The boy gave a roar of frustration and slammed his fist against a lamppost, making it fold and fall as if though it were made of wet noodles rather than steel. The boy kicked off and went flying into the night.

He wasn't supposed to be able to do that.

Clark thought of going off after him.

He also thought of Bruce.

Bruce Wayne was a lot of things. Billionaire playboy. Dark knight. Leader of the Justice League.

But worst of all, he was almost always right.

* * *

**A/N** So, like I said, almost certainly not what the OP had in mind. Nonetheless, I do hope you've derived some enjoyment from this fill. If I switch tenses, please forgive. For some reason, this piece wanted to be written in the past tense, which is a deviation from my usual YJ style and in a couple of places I caught myself switching into present. I'm also not really sure why this story decided to be told from Clark's POV.

I'm not crazy about this one, but reviews would be appreciated.


End file.
